


... So Let There...

by Fangirlingmanaged



Series: God Knows I... [12]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Fix-It of Sorts, Hurt Tony, Idiots in Love, M/M, Protective Rhodey, Steve Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 20:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5512265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlingmanaged/pseuds/Fangirlingmanaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's awake now, and even if he isn't talking Steve can still hear what he would say loud and clear. "Time to face the music."</p>
            </blockquote>





	... So Let There...

**Author's Note:**

> About damn time, am I right? I've been dealing with a bad case of writer's block, and then I got hit with the Sia feels and then I discovered Troye Sivan and... then it was downhill from there with the feels.   
> The one good thing, though, is that I can finally see a happy ending coming. Sort of.

One of Tony’s most infuriatingly charming quirks is the fact that he can’t seem to stop talking. It happens all the time, at any given situation, and for however long he feels inspired. It becomes infuriating when someone is trying to concentrate on, say, a battle with an acid spitting lizard mutant thing. It used to drive Steve nuts, the way in which Tony couldn’t seem to _shut the hell up._ It didn’t matter if they were in the lab while he was tinkering, or in the common room during movie night or before a press conference to apologize _again_ for another major city destruction. It was just this constant rambling, and sometimes it just kind of became background noise. Like the soundtracks in all those movies had suddenly become Tony’s voice rather than a song.

After a while though the sound of Tony’s rambling became the best way in which Steve could determine what kind of mood he was in. there was the lab rambling, where Tony was too immersed and content in engineering to notice that his mouth was running the whole time. It was a mystery for a while, before they became a _thing_ , to hear Tony talking so much and so fast to a trio of semi-sentient robots. Steve had never asked before because something in his gut used to tell him that it wasn’t his business. Or, more importantly, there was something in his gut that used to tell him that perhaps he didn’t want to know the answer to that particular question. Once they had become quite acquainted with each other, though, once Tony had walked in on more than one of his night terrors and he’d had to bring Tony back from a particularly nasty panic attack, Steve had been brave enough to ask. The answer, he now thinks back on, was quite simple and it should have been obvious. After all, genius children usually can’t relate to “normal” people. Tony, simply, had never had anyone else to listen to him as he worked. Nobody to provide feedback, and even though Steve was _hilariously_ out of his depth with the level of electrical and mechanical engineering the other man did he’d made it his mission since then to always provide an ear to listen. It had extended out of the workshop after that, but that was when it began.

Then, there was the irreverent rambling that occurred usually after an overzealous reporter began to ask too personal questions in order to create a cheap story. Sometimes, it was the ramblings _after_ yet another reference to his father or his title of the merchant of death. Steve had gotten to the point where he could see these ramblings coming from a mile away. He’s gotten to peg the type of reporter who would ask those questions, conservatives and liberals alike and from the big time magazines, and could tell when Tony threw his shoulders that a _show time_ call had been sounded in his lover’s head. What followed was a verbal beat down that lasted, in one memorable occasion, all of seven uninterrupted minutes when Tony took down every person in the advertisement company all the way to the CEO.  Of course, Fox News just tried to beat down almost every minute for the next week but the damage had already been done. When these types of things happen nowadays, Steve can usually diffuse the situation so that Tony can walk away. He knows that even if his lover doesn’t say anything about it that it still hurts, it still tears at a little bit, that the public thought so poorly of him. That nobody besides Pepper, Rhodey and Happy had been able to tell the difference between himself and the persona he’d created after Edwin’s and his parents’ deaths. Steve’s awarded himself some name calling of his own after defending Tony, and he’s childishly proud of that every time.

Then there’s the hurt Tony ramblings that tend to happen when he’s too sleep deprived or high in pain killers to be able to stop his mouth from sayings things that had clearly been festering too long inside his own mind. The first time it happened was after their third or so battle that the suit had been compromised to the point where he’d been brought down hard during a battle. Steve remembers because even though they weren’t together, hell they weren’t even _friends_ , he’d had to see the shiny gold and red suit plummet from the sky and then proceed to not move. Once the villain had been dispatched, by a hammer-happy Thor and a Hulk with an overprotective kick, they’d reached the crater he’d created on the sidewalk and had had to peel the dented and scratched and mangled suit off the genius. Steve remembers the blood, _dear God so much fucking blood_ , making his grip slippery and clumsy. He remembered the way Hulk had shrunk down to Bruce almost immediately upon seeing it to help his friend. Remembered the way Tony hadn’t moved, the old reactor giving the odd flicker that had made all of them afraid for their teammate. Luckily, SHIELD had been quick to dispatch a med jet to get Tony out of the field and into the med wing at HQ. The debriefing afterwards had been one of their most excruciating, but the meeting in Tony’s hospital room later had been worse. The other man had been so high on pain killers he hadn’t been able to control the way he apologized for messing up, reasoned and downright pleaded with them to _please_ let him stay because _he could do better_. Thor had looked like someone had kicked Loki, Bruce and Clint had excused themselves before the sound kicking came from outside the door, and then, _then_ it had gotten worse. Tony had turned those big brown eyes on Romanoff and told her that he knew he wasn’t fit for the Avengers, that they both did, but that he was _trying_. The Russian assassin had clenched her hands tightly and snapped at him to stop being an idiot, of course he could stay, _who the hell else_ was supposed to give them upgrades. Steve had heard the way her voice cracked, though, and then had to force himself to reassure Tony of the same when those soul-crushing eyes turned to him.

Those were the hardest, Steve reminisces now as he watches Tony sleep at three am because it’s the only time he’s allowed to see him now, the times when Tony used to ramble and cut himself down because he thought he didn’t deserve what he had. When he started on the long list of supposed faults he’d been convinced he had by his father, then Obie, then the press. There was one moment which struck Steve as more significant than the others when they were having an argument in the common room. It’d been after yet another self-sacrificing move from the genius that had almost given Steve a heart attack. There was an ugly bruise on Tony’s temple and his cheek, his neck was bright red and splotchy, and he was favoring one of his legs. He’d gotten _out_ of the fucking suit to banter with a supervillain. Steve had wanted to lock him in his room and never let him go after that. Which had led them to that argument. When tony had told him that _he was a grown ass man_ who didn’t need super soldiers babysitting him and to _back the fuck off and stop breathing down his neck._ And that, well that, had been more than Steve could handle. Had gotten up on Tony’s face and told him, shouted at him as he gripped his shoulders, _to stop being such a fucking asshole, that he wasn’t expendable,_ had all but dropped to his knees to get him to understand _that Steve needed him_. Tony, well, had pushed back. Had looked around like a cornered animal and put his hands on Steve’s chest to push him away, to _please let him breathe,_ so that the soldier _let him go before he broke him too._ Had listed all the ways in which he didn’t deserve him, had broken Steve’s fucking heart, because he didn’t know. Didn’t know it was possible, didn’t know if it was real; didn’t know how to accept that it was. Steve got pretty good with those too, got to know when to push and when to just wait for the inevitable fallout so that he could help pick up the pieces. Had learned how to show Tony that he could be loved like that, that he could accept it, had shown the other man that for all that Howard had tried to break him he hadn’t succeeded. It was those and the happy ramblings that Steve had seen the most of before. _Before._

After Steve’s ultimatum the only types of ramblings that Steve had been allowed to see where the times when Tony was too tired, too _hurt_ , to do anything but lash out. When every word out of the genius’s mouth felt like acid on his skin. When he yelled at him that he was a cheater, and a liar, and damn piece of shit for making him believe he wouldn’t turn back. When he’d told Steve that if he didn’t stop then there was nothing left of them because Steve wouldn’t pick him. That he had never chosen him. The types of ramblings that led to Tony throw a repulsor blast that Steve had been almost too surprised to dodge. It’s that moment that Steve remembers the most lately as he thinks of Tony talking too much and too fast. When he’d been trying to reason with his lover that what he was doing was right, that he had _never_ picked Bucky over him, that he never would. When Tony’s faceplate had been up and it was all too easy to see the hurt and desperation there before the gauntlet had been engaging and Steve had seen that all too familiar blue-white light aimed at him. Had had just enough time to raise the shield and send it ricocheting to the ceiling and had showered them in dust and god knows what else while he heard the sound of Tony’ scathing voice and the tiny pieces of ceiling falling to the ground. When the whirring of the gauntlet that signal another shot sounded again, Steve had instinctually thrown the shield to deflect the blast. Had hit the side of Tony’s wrist and sent the blast into the wall. Had blanched when he saw the wide eyed, glassy stare the other man was giving him. Not only at Steve fighting back, but at the fact that he’d _had_ to.

If there’s one thing that would hunt Steve for the rest of his life, though, is the constant vitriol his lover had spewed at him and his best friend the day Bucky almost took his best friend away from him again. Steve had seen Tony go for Bucky first, not with the repulsors, but with the whole armor. Had seen it battling it out, registered all the words Tony had said to Bucky and vice versa. At first, it had been about stopping them. From doing something irreversible to each other, had tried to push Tony away but he’d just kept coming. It wasn’t until the words _you should have stayed dead_ had registered in his mind that he’d truly gone for his lover. He’d thought, then, that Tony wouldn’t stop. That it was one or the other that was going to end up bloody, and it hadn’t been between Tony and Bucky. Steve had known that Tony wouldn’t give up until they _made_ him. Had known that he’d have to take Tony down until he couldn’t fight anymore, but the Captain knew that there was no way he would ever _not_ stop before he did something irreversible. Steve’s mistake had been to think Bucky would.

Now that it’s been two weeks since Tony woke up, though, he feels like there’s a twisting in his heart as his lover’s chest rises and falls with every breath he takes. When Tony had been unconscious, Steve had given thanks to whatever being had allowed each and every intake of breath. Had sat with Tony till he was shaky and dizzy with sleep deprivation and hunger. It had been his punishment, too, those vigils over his lover’s prone body. Now, though, that had been taken away from him too. Hearing Tony’s first words be his name had given him… hope, as stupid as that had been. The way Tony had looked at him then, the very first thing he actually saw, had made him believe that maybe there was a way that he would be able to atone for what he’d done. He’d walked into that happy cloud of self-deception until the next day when Tony was actually coherent to truly know _who_ he was. What he’d done.

Bruce had kicked him out once Tony had been put under to sleep off the worse of his pain and medications right after his check-up. The surgery had been a success, they said, and there was no way the other man wouldn’t make a full recovery. The unconsciousness, they said, had been nothing but his mind taking its time to adjust to the trauma he’d suffered. Steve had almost thrown up at the word. _Trauma_. Like Tony hadn’t had enough of that living with everything that had happened to him up until then. So the next morning he’d walked in on Bruce talking quietly with Tony, but he could immediately tell something wasn’t right. The way Bruce was talking… to soft, and too fast… the way Tony was just looking at him like he wasn’t even there. He looked… vacant. And then he raised his eyes and blue met brown. There was a crease between Tony’s eyes immediately, and he reared back. Bruce noticed him then, hanging by the entrance, and motioned for him to get closer.

“Tony—“Steve began, but he only got as far as the foot of the bed before Tony was shaking his head and trying to crawl backwards so bad that the monitors went into a frenzy. He didn’t stop until Steve did, and even then didn’t take his eyes off the soldier. “I—“a sharp noise. Something between a whine and a _no_. Like Tony _couldn’t_ even muster the power to tell him to stop. _Then, again,_ the dark twisted part of Steve’s mind had told him, _would you even do it? I mean, it’s not like you stopped before._ It was all he could do not to let the grief crush him.

Bruce suggested for him to leave then, and something in his expression moved Steve to do just that. He’d thrown a glance over his shoulder, and Tony’s eyes had been locked on him. It’s the same way he’d see him for _weeks_. Wide eyed with panic and fingers drumming on his brand new reactor. From then on, Steve had made himself scarce in the hospital when Tony could see him. It was clear, after the confrontation just two days later when Tony went into a full blown panic attack, that there was nothing Steve could do for him there other than silently track his progress. Make sure that his medication was correct, and that he was getting enough sleep. He’d been released a week after waking up, and that had posed even more hoops for Steve to jump through. Now that he didn’t have the excuse of rotation of the Avengers and the necessity of constant check-ups, he couldn’t try to lie to Tony if he got caught watching him sleep like a stalker. Regardless of that, though, he sits by the genius’s bedside every night, not once dropping of exhaustion because if he only has eight or less hours to get his fill then by God he’s not going to waste it. He makes himself scarce from the room during the hours when the other man is awake, but nobody else is allowed to make Tony’s meals. Steve cooks and bakes and buys him his favorite food to spoil it, and the healthiest he can make due to doctor’s orders. Steve is the one that speaks to the specialist about his progress, though Tony doesn’t know that. Steve is the one that keeps a constant feed of the genius’s room twenty-four/seven in whatever phone or tablet is closest to him. Steve is the one that gives Rhodey and Natasha, who begrudgingly accepted his help at first, on what to do if he has a nightmare. Steve is the one that proposes they let Tony go down to the workshop to help ease the anxiety. Steve is the one that fields calls from Pepper once she stops slapping him, and starts actually talking. Steve’s the one that doesn’t sleep because, besides his own nightmares, he knows Tony will have them too and someone needs to alert one of the other Avengers so that they can help.

And he’s doing okay, really, pushes forwards with that routine for two weeks. Until the day Tony comes out of his room and starts spending time with them. It’s clear that Tony’s usual vocal attitude has been transformed into quiet guardedness. He speaks softly, now, to only Natasha or Bruce. Rhodey when he visits, which is almost every day for the last three weeks, gets more enthusiasm. As does Thor, and Tony puts a brave face for Pepper when she comes see him. He keeps a wide breadth from Clint and Sam, though, and the first time he’d seen Bucky in the living room, with a medical bracelet wrapped around his wrist and a bad case of insomnia, there was a gauntlet in his hand faster than any of them could speak to calm him down. Bucky’s eyes meet Steve’s over Tony’s shoulders, and very carefully and deliberately removes his hand from where it had flown to his hip where his trusted knife is strapped. Steve holds his breath as he takes it off, slides it over to Tony’s feet, and spreads his arms a bit. _Making a perfect target,_ Steve’s mind supplies.

“What the _fuck,”_ and it’s a testament of how much Steve has missed his voice for the last _months_ that he’s incredibly grateful to hear his hate-filled tone. His raised hand is trembling, and his shoulders threaten to slump, but Steve knows that his whole focus is on Bucky in that moment. It’s Natasha that answers him, but none of them make a move to lower the repulsor or stand in front of Bucky. This confrontation has been a long time coming.

“Barnes was cleared,” she tells him evenly. Steve knows she’s looking at him, not Tony, as she says this. He knows what they did to make things better for Bucky. Knows that even through their fighting, Tony had been taking care of him. Knows it in the scheduled press conference he has for a week from then, knows it in the tabloid trash that has been badmouthing his lover since Registration was shot down; knows it in the speech he’s been writing. Knows it in the mission scheduled for two weeks since then to take down Osborn and the others. “He was always meant to be a part of SHIELD. Dr. Cartier has been helping him… sort through things.” At these words, Bucky’s hand starts playing with the bracelet on his wrist. It’s a sore subject, one he’s sure his best friend would rather not discuss in public, but necessary. Steve knows Tony enough to know he’s tracking ever one of the other man’s fidgety movements.

Steve thinks they’re going to leave it at that. That Tony will lower the gauntlet and stalk out of the room. Hole in his workshop until Steve has counted five, six hours, and sends Thor to get him out and lay him in bed so that Steve can make sure he’s comfortable and has his medication. It’s happened three times since he’s come home, Steve knows, and twice it has been because of something related to him. Bruce trying to get him to talk to Steve, and then, surprising everyone, Natasha doing the same. Steve thinks the latter has seen him working himself enough to make Tony comfortable to know that there is nothing he wouldn’t do for the other man. Though, he thinks ruefully, it might also be the fact that she’s been accompanying Bucky to all of his sessions. Watches him through the one way mirror in Dr. Cartier’s office. Well, it’s more of a hastily refurbished holding cell, but… Bucky says it’s for the better. It’s something he’s used to, it turns Steve’s stomach to think that he’s _comfortable_ in there, that it’s _familiar_ enough to put him at _ease_ to be locked up. Anyway, Natasha had tried to convince Tony to speak to him, but it had gone downhill from there. Then, there was the time the stitches on one of his most severe cuts around the reactor had come undone because he couldn’t take it ease, of fucking course. Steve had found him on his way out of the elevator, a hand bracing his weight against the wall, and his shirt sticky and bloody. He was in front of him and hauling him into his arms faster than he could register what was happening.

“Let go of me, you fucking asshole… I’m _fine_ , it’s _fine_ , let me go… I swear to God, Rogers, get your dirty hands off me… I don’t _fucking need you!_... It’s not bad,” once they’d reached Bruce, “ _not as bad as you left me three weeks ago. Remember? Beat me black and blue, didn’t you? Wonder boy almost killed me, this is nothing. JUST FUCK OFF!”_

 _“M-make sure he’s all right,”_ all Steve could remember from then was the fire in Tony’s eyes as he glared at him and how hoarse his voice was.

“Steve,” Bruce had said gently, but Steve was out of there before Tony could say anything else.

That day, though, with Tony’s raised gauntlet and Bucky’s open arms, Steve was sure they were looking forward to a bender and a hell of a lot of cursing. He should have known, though, that every time he thought he had Tony pegged he always managed to be taken off guard. Bucky, too, for that matter. Tony _had_ lowered the gauntlet, but hadn’t bolted. He just stared at Bucky for a long while before he spoke.

“Steve’s mother.”

“Sarah Rogers. She was a nurse. Used to bake cookies for his short ass whenever he was mauled over by a meathead. Used to say it was gonna be what left her poor because he got beat on so much. Used to take care of me, too, when I couldn’t be bothered to go home. Took me in like I was a kid of her own, but God forbid I ever tried to give that woman money. Stubborn, the both of them,” Bucky shot Steve a small grin. This, at least, Bucky had been sure of since the moment he had showed up at the garage.

“My father.”

“Howard Stark. Met him after they pumped Steve full of happy, muscle juice. Used to go in those crazy air raids on his own. In and out of places; then he’d go and play nice with all those higher ups that didn’t know what he was. How good he was, and just how damn crazy. Built all of Steve’s gear, wouldn’t let anyone touch him; we used to talk about making a serum all on his own, for me, so that we could fight the bad guys together for as long as we could. Used to—used to talk ‘bout this gal of his, had met her by accident on a quick run in Italy. Maria something.” Steve could see Tony’s fist begin to shake. This was something neither of them had known.

“Death day.”

“Don’t remember the day, exactly, everything was muddy back then. Just… I remember the train. I remember telling Steve to get on his big boy pants and lead his fucking mission. I remember seeing him jump and yell at me to do the same. Saw the stupid cowl, and all I could think about was that little kid, you know? Getting beat up ‘cause he took on a guy bigger than ‘im just ‘cause he couldn’t stand bullies. I coulda sworn he shrunk down at least a foot, right then, ‘cause it was the same kid. And I trusted that kid, stupid as it was, to get me through that. Last thing I remember was hearing him yell my name, and then nothing.”

“How’d you meet Steve?” Steve could see this was hard for Bucky. Dr. Cartier was doing great progress with him, but there were days in which Bucky and the Winter Soldier blurred with one another and left all of them reeling. Days when Bucky would be the happy-go-lucky idiot that would spar with Thor or get into hot-dog eating contests with Clint, and then he’d go back to eyeing them all up like he was measuring up how to take them down. It had gotten better in the past week, by then, with Natasha learning his triggers and the ways in which he could be brought down.

“He was getting beat by Johnny Michaels, a fucking fifth grader, with rolls of fat and a mean face. Was calling Steve a fairy just ‘cause he was small, and he kept on telling him that he was dumb. Steve was yelling right back,” Bucky chuckled and Steve’s lips quirked into a weak smile. To hear him talk them was like he was still the boy he’d grown up with. Bucky didn’t sound more like _his Bucky_ than when he managed to come back to a memory. “that he was just a bully and a coward, and why were his friends helping? And what would he do when Steve turn them ‘round? And he’d heard him cry for his momma when he’d dropped his fat sandwich on the playground. He was already all banged up, but he kept on mouthing off. Took care of the bullies for him, and just as I was helping him he turns those damn blue eyes on me, and he tells me—“

“Didn’t need no help,” Tony tells him softly. Steve’s eyes prickle with tears at just how quiet and _vulnerable_ his voice sounds. Steve used to tell him these stories all the time, and maybe more since discovering his best friend was alive in the hopes of making him understand. To make him see just how much the other man needed him. How much he’d done for him growing up. “Shoulda waited a little bit. I almost had them.”

Bucky stares with wide-eyed surprised at Tony, then at Steve. “Yeah,” he tells the genius, but gently. God, this is so goddamn hard. So goddamn unnecessary that all this had to happen to get to this point. “Took him to his momma after that, but she wasn’t there. So I sat his ass down in the kitchen, and went to look for something to patch him up with. Had to look after him after that, felt like, ‘cause there sure as hell wasn’t anyone else left. Gave me a whole lotta trouble, too, but—“

“He was your best friend,” Tony answers for him. Bucky looks at him seriously and nods. And just like that, all the fight seems to go out of Tony then. The whole room seems to lose its tension, but everyone is still staring at the pair. Before anyone can speak, Tony clenches his fists again and meets Bucky’s eyes, Steve assumes, to deliver his verdict. “Welcome home, Sergeant Barnes,” he tells him quietly. It’s a mixture of relief and bitterness. He turns around before the other man can come out of his surprise, and almost runs right into Steve. The soldier is a bit embarrassed, he hadn’t realized he was getting so close, and takes a step back. He’s about to apologize, for what he doesn’t know, but for his mere existence seems like a good way to start, but the other man beats him to it. “Congrats, Cap, you were right.” And then he’s shuffling out of the room, and leaving Steve with a big gaping hole in his heart and no sense of triumph at all.

Things got… weird, after that. It takes Steve all of a week to crack, though, when he finds Tony talking to _Bucky_ of all people, while he doesn’t do anything but glare at Steve and beat a hasty retreat every time they’re in the same room. Steve would move out of the tower if it weren’t for the fact that the others still don’t get a good read on Tony. They never had, even when things had been good with every member of the team before. Tony had always been good at creating a smoke screen of bullshit so people couldn’t see when he needed help, and while everyone knew he wasn’t really an asshole they still didn’t really know his tells. So Steve did what he could, standing in the background and silently taking care of Tony. Things are becoming too much to carry, though, when he realizes that he’s just sort of… there, at the tower. He doesn’t allow himself to participate with the others, not when Tony is in there with them and getting back on his feet, he won’t do anything to jeopardize that for the man he loves. And even when Tony isn’t there, Steve doesn’t really think he deserves to be with them. He’s the reason things are how they are; _he_ tore their family apart. There’s no way he deserves them back. SHIELD is getting back up, too, and supervillains seem to have taken a break from causing chaos. This leaves Steve going through the motions, really, hitting the gym and sitting in front of the glass wall of his long-abandoned floor in the tower to draw in the daylight hours, with his occasional trip to ask one of the Avengers for updates on Tony, and his late night vigils outside of Tony’s window.

It wasn’t until that day, though, that he’d realized his purpose was waning. Tony was getting better. Walking rather than shuffling, speaking more to the others, doing the things he used to do. He wakes up every night from a nightmare, sure, and  he’s had his occasional panic attacks when someone grabs him suddenly or gets near the reactor (things Steve has seen through the feed he’s made JARVIS maintain open for such occurrences,) but the others are getting better. Better at telling, and getting back on his feet. Soon… well, soon Steve isn’t going to be needed here. Will be nothing more than an ugly reminder of what happened. Tony had been fiddling with Bucky’s arm in the living room, each a safe distance away and with stiff postures, but there was no hostility there. Tony wasn’t yelling curses and accusations or looking like he was going to pitch him off the balcony at any moment; things that happened every time Steve had made the mistake of being in the same room. It was become clearer and cleared that Steve should be doing what he had to. And that was to disappear. There was only the press conference of that day to get through.

“Not thinking about jumping, are you?” the voice startles him enough that he almost does just _that_. He was in the roof, something he’d always liked to do when things got too much and he needed to thinking, leaning over the safety rail. He pushes shakily back from the bent metal, and turns around to meet Rhodey’s eyes. He’s leaning against the closed door to the roof, and not gripping any sort of weaponry. This, more than anything, is what surprises Steve the most. After the initial outburst, Rhodes had followed Tony’s lead and pretended Steve didn’t exist.

“No,” he tells him quietly. “No, just… thinking. I guess. I have—“

“A press conference, I know,” Steve rears back in surprise. The last thing he expected was for Rhodey to be keeping tabs on him. “JARVIS had set up a reminder for you. Needed someone to deliver the message, and Tony’s down in the workshop so I figured I would. Widow didn’t want to let me, thought I’d pitch you off the roof, though—“

“You’d be doing everyone a favor,” Steve tells him wearily. He’s heard the blood-thirsty spiel from him and Pepper enough to know it by heart. Can’t even argue with it, really, seeing as he agrees completely. “I remembered, I was on my way down.”

Rhodey moves out of the way as Steve makes his way to the door as if even been in close proximity to him would give him a disease. No, Steve wants to tell him, asshole isn’t something you can transmit. It’s something you just let yourself be, when you’re stupid and desperate. He doesn’t, though, just curls his hands into fists and keeps his head down. Before he takes a step down, though, Rhodey calls his name. He turns around to see the conflict in the other man’s face. His brow is creased and there’s an angry set to his mouth. Steve braces himself for more scathing comments.

“How’d you know?” Rhodey asks. Steve has no idea what the hell he’s talking about, and maybe his expression conveys it because Rhodey makes an impatient noise. Surprisingly, though, Steve can’t tell it’s to himself and not for him. “That Barnes would remember you, even if he couldn’t right then? How’d you know it was going to be worth it?”

Steve looks at him for a long moment, trying to explain, but then decides just to be truthful. “I didn’t,” he says quietly. The leather on his gloves creaks as he flexes his fingers. “Just… up in that hellicarrier. He recognized me, I could see it, but it was hard. Whatever they’d done… then we found the machine they used on him, and then I… well, nobody could see it but me, but when we started tracing his routes. Bulgaria, France, that island in the Caribbean… places we knew, places we’d been to ‘cause of the war… then we checked the feed and he was at the Smithsonian, and I… I just knew. He was looking for us. Not just me, but… he was trying to figure out what we were. Who he was. He knew how to disappear, he could have kept his nose down and hidden, but he… it just felt like he was leaving a trail for someone to find.”

“Why’d it have to be you?” Rhodey asks, and Steve knows. He knows that he’s thinking that Tony needed someone who would be there unconditionally. Someone who wouldn’t have his loyalties divided between himself and a ghost. Too many people, Obie included, had been like that. Tony had needed him to focus solely on him, and he had failed.

“There was no one else,” Steve tells him simply. God, he’s so tired. Just fucking weary of watching what he says and how he acts. So tired of being fucking helpless. Helpless to find Bucky. Helpless to fight back against SHRA. Helpless when trying to get Tony back. Helpless when trying to keep him safe. Helpless when being pushed by either side to pick them. Helpless when trying to keep Tony, and help Steve. He was just _so fucking tired_. When Rhodey opens his mouth to counteract, Steve speaks quickly, “Everyone else who knew Bucky is dead. Everyone knows the Winter Soldier, knows what he’s done, but nobody knows Bucky anymore, Rhodey. It’s just me.”

“So what are you going to do now?” Rhodey asks him. He’s more subdued than he’s been since Tony was brought in from surgery.

“Fix the shit storm I created,” Steve looks past him at the New York skyline and feels his resolve slotting into place. Tony’s… Tony’s getting better. Building himself up again, by himself and with the help of the team, and most decidedly without Steve. One day, he’s gonna be the most beautiful man Steve ever had the pleasure of knowing, but it won’t be his privilege to know that man. He’s gonna know the mangled, insecure man he was _before_ , and maybe that’s for the best. Tony’s beautiful now, but every step forward he takes makes him better. Makes him so much more than anyone has a right to be, and even if Steve doesn’t get to know that man he’s sort of glad he’ll be doing whatever he can to keep him safe. “Put things in their right place.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s about damn time people know who Tony _really_ is. Registration, Bucky, the war… everyone keeps making it seem like it was all on him, and we all know it wasn’t. My family wouldn’t be torn to shreds if it had been. This… this is on me. And I’ll be damned if they try to stain his name any more than they’ve already done.”

“Is this what the conference is for?” Rhodey sounds incredulous. Steve forces himself to meet his eyes and convey his resolve in a single glance.

“One way or another they’re going to see who the man I love is,” Steve clenches fists and turns around. This is it, for him, the end of the line. The end of the path he started when he joined the Avengers. “Whatever the cost may be.” He walks down the stairs without a backward glance. Rhodey will tell the others. Will tell Tony, and all he can hope for is that the other man knows. Even if he doesn’t accept it.

He’s too focused on where he’s going that he misses Rhodey’s quiet inquiry.

“And you, Steve? Who’s left to know you?”

**Author's Note:**

> Am I the only one that's always gonna see Steve as being very aware of Tony's own strength and knowing that the genius, billionaire, philanthropist can make on his own? 'Cause that's how I see Stevie.   
> Tiny spoiler: Tony doesn't want to ;D  
> Happy ending ahead, thank God!


End file.
